Wimbledon
by MissedTheLastTrainHome
Summary: Arthur Pendragon is the UK's Number 1 tennis player. Gwen Leodegrance hasn't even played a slam. By fluke circumstances, they find themselves united in the coveted Wimbledon tennis championships. Can they be the pair that the nation is relying on?
1. Chapter 1

Wimbledon

A/N: This is only a 3 chapter story! Centred around the All England Wimbledon Tennis Championships, and how Arthur and Gwen deal with being entered as a Mixed Doubles pair.

Wimbledon was empty at 5am. The fresh, mint-coloured grass of the courts was clearly visible from the exterior of the plush venue; the dewy morning had taken its hold and the grass appeared ever so slightly damp.

Gwen gazed out upon the courts. The morning sun was just breaking through the clouds, and in the distance she could hear the tube rattle away softly with the earliest passengers travelling towards the centre of the city. Today was just another day – it was a regular occurrence for her to be here, unbeknownst to any of the Wimbledon officials. She would trudge up the dirt track from her East London flat, jog along to the tube and take the tube across the city to the prestigious Wimbledon station. Then she'd power walk to the back of Court 18 – the lonesome court for the lesser of the famous tennis stars.

On this particular morning, Gwen Leodegrance was basking in the breaking sunshine as she made her way to her favoured court. Using her toned, athletic build, she vaulted over the strong metal gate and onto the lush grass court. Landing on her simple but effective Nike white trainers, she took a deep breath and began to warm up.

* * *

It wasn't even 5am when Arthur Pendragon felt his sleep being forced away from him. He blinked, looking around his room. The night before seemed blurry. He thought back, and fortunately, the memories came rushing back.

Perhaps it was more unfortunate than it was fortunate – the Aegon Championships after party had ended in a load of intoxicated young adults swearing and shouting about the matches they'd won or lost, Arthur had almost been beaten up by Gwaine and Percival, two of his best friends but also his tennis rivals, who he'd seen off to become the winner of the Aegon Championships for the 5th time, and he distinctly remembered Vivian kissing him. Numerous times.

Arthur groaned. The last thing he wanted was a relationship with that...hussy. She was clingy and far too self-confident. She wanted to boast about the fact that she'd bagged the World Number 1 tennis player. Ugh.

Stumbling out of bed, he observed the purple and red sky as the sun rose. Looking out of his penthouse apartment bay window, he impulsively went to get ready to play tennis. He needed the release.

* * *

The ball flew into the air, approximately 3 metres high. Gwen drew her arm back behind her head and waited for the fluffy yellow ball to drop to the right height. She flexed her arm, tensing her muscles in her legs as she rocked back and threw her racket right at the centre of the ball, before following through neatly as the momentum powered her legs to sprint forward into service box.

The serve bounced directly on the middle line down the court. It was perfectly aced.

Gwen sighed. She wanted to be a contender, for once. Not an outsider – a contender. How familiar those words were – they felt like a repeated mantra inside of her head. Nothing seemed to work – no matter what, she could never quite break into top-seeded tennis players.

The brunette slipped a hand into her pocket and removed another fresh tennis ball. She went to serve again: bouncing the ball twice and inhaling deeply. She fluidly raised her arm and let go at the ball at the perfect 150 degrees. The ball sailed directly into the air and Gwen brought her racket up behind her head, keeping it level before letting the head drop as she rose up onto her toes and used her explosive arm to whallop the ball down the court.

"I could have you arrested." A voice echoed from the court entrance. Gwen automatically whirled around to see a blonde man, standing in tennis whites. His shorts were perfectly crafted so they hung to the right length – showing off muscular but shapely legs. His tight polo shirt left nothing to the imagination: every arch and every bump of his abs was clearly visible. His face was the most striking feature of the man, however: piercingly vivid blue eyes reminded her of the Atlantic sea, and his flawless complexion could not go unnoticed.

Gwen tried to reply but no words escaped her mouth. She found herself staring at him. The man approached her, using a key to unlock the gate to her secluded court. A wave of inadequacy passed over her – for years she'd been hopping fences like a vagrant, and in walked this man with a simple key.

"Tell me," he started again, staring at her, "what brings you to Wimbledon courts at a time when only the British Number 1 seed is permitted to play?"

Arthur looked her up and down. Her hair was hidden under an oversized grey hat. She wore clean white trainers but the rest of her outfit did not portray the class of Wimbledon at all: she wore grey cut-off tracksuit bottoms and a purple tank top.

Nothing special, Arthur scoffed to himself.

Suddenly, the girl's expression changed.

"You're...Arthur Pendragon?" She exclaimed, looking stunned. Arthur didn't bother reacting – it was an everyday occurrence that some girl would come up to him and coo about "what an amazing tennis player he was".

"Look, my trainer is due in 15 minutes. I'm not usually around here, but when I am, I don't expect other people to be taking up courts. My regime is strict. I'd appreciate if you could make your exit pretty soon."

A stroke of anger bubbled in Gwen's stomach.

"I'm ranked 120th right now. You can have 17 other courts but you most certainly don't need this one. I'm practising for the odd chance that I'll be picked for a wild card entry to the tournament – but don't worry; I'll be leaving, so Mr Number One can have 18 courts at his leisure. No worries." She replied, her eyes blazing as she sarcastically hissed at him. Arthur smirked as she grabbed her bag and stormed passed him.

"You never told me your name!" he called after her. She turned around, eyebrows raised at the audacity of his request – after all, he had just kicked her off a court.

"Gwen. It's Gwen."

With that, the dark-skinned brunette walked away from him, down the dirt track and into the distance. Arthur shook his head. He wished for respect these days. It was a hard trek to be the UK Number One – some people didn't understand the pressure he had piled upon his shoulders. He had to please his family, his coach, his team, his tennis friends, his old friends, his fans and the expecting world. It was hard.

* * *

Days passed by. Gwen did not go near Wimbledon – she was far too embarrassed. After mulling it over in her head, she could not quite believe the way she had spoken to such a talented player the way she did. Gwen knew she could not show her face there for at least a few weeks, when Wimbledon has passed.

She avoided training - although she didn't normally train full-time at SW19, the humiliation of her encounter with Pendragon had left her feeling as if a knife had been swirled in her stomach.

Gwen's plan? To stay completely out of the way.

However, that was not to be so.

One phone call changed everything. Her coach, wondering why she hadn't shown up to training that week. Gwen had tried to explain herself to him, but he hadn't got time to listen to her - instead, he'd delivered the ground breaking news that she had been selected as one of the British Wild Card entries to Wimbledon that year.

After screaming down the phone, rolling around on the floor and almost hyperventilating, Gwen returned to the phone, only to hear her coach stammer.

"Gwen...Gwen. There's a slight complication. It's not...quite...the category we were hoping for."

Gwen paused.

"What? What category is it?" she replied, agast.

"A partnership have dropped out of the Mixed Doubles teams. They were going to pick Angelique Anstell but she's got prior engagements with LTA Creation Squads. You're up for it."

There was a silence from the other end of the phone. Gwen stood and bit her lip.

"But I'm not trained at all for Mixed Doubles!"

Her coach sighed.

* * *

After a 40 minute lecture from her coach, Gwen checked her emails. Sure enough, there was an update from The All England Lawn Tennis Association British Tennis Championship Wimbledon 2013. Gwen felt her insides flutter. She was an East London girl. How on Earth had she managed to climb to one of the world's greatest tournaments?

The email instructed her to report to the Wimbledon Courts as soon as possible. Gwen looked at herself. She was dressed in a pair of faded turquoise shorts and a simple Nike tank top. It was time to dress up.

Sprinting into her bedroom, she flung the wardrobe door open and rifled through the outfits hung up until her eyes landed on the desired item.

The white tennis dress was the last thing Gwen's father ever gave her. Her mother had died when she was very young, and her father took ill two years ago, before he finally passed away to a stroke. The white tennis dress had been purchased not long before his passing and she hadn't worn it yet. Today seemed a suitable day, Gwen thought, closing her eyes as she flashed back to the sweet memories of her family.

* * *

Arthur lazed in his reclining chair, sitting at the side of Court 6 at Wimbledon. Today was a Debenture day - only the most elite members could enjoy an exclusive day at the courts for pre-tournament relaxation and socialising.

His hand slipped around his glass of Pimms and sucked at a strawberry. His icy blue eyes glared out upon the empty grass expanse. In seven days, Wimbledon would be starting - Arthur was using today as his last day of Pimms (his secret weak spot).

"Mr Pendragon," a voice called from behind him, "would it be possible to speak to you about a prospective category for you?"

Arthur slowly spun his head around. He noticed a tall blonde woman standing near by.

"And...you are?"

"Mithian. Mithian Alcott. I'm in charge of the Mixed Doubles at Wimbledon."

Arthur stood up, letting his toned body lean against his chair.

"You would like me to participate in the Mixed Doubles? I really don't think I'm in a position to do so. The whole nation is counting on me to win my first grand slam."

Mithian smiled.

"I've heard a lot about you, Mr Pendragon. I expected such a response. The professionalism that you've been trained in. The arrogance that lies beneath. The soft centre hidden away, saved for when emotion calls it out. Then there's the attribute of winning you don't even try to conceal. Success is so important to you. You strive for success. Want to deny this, Mr Pendragon?"

Arthur narrowed his eyes. Clearly, this woman had done her research.

"No, no. It sounds pretty accurate to me."

Mithian took a step closer to him, and placed a hand (inappropriately) on his chest.

"Then compete in the Mixed Doubles. We have a talented partner for you. We can assure you victory."

* * *

Gwen flew along the dirt track that led to the back of Wimbledon. She was careful not to get her freshly-scrubbed white trainers tarnished. Luckily, the courts seemed rather empty.

Walking coolly into the Reception area, she confidently approached the front desk. Handing her entry sheet over to an older woman who, in turn, coldy asked if she was a member.

"No, no - I'm just here for the tournament. I'm a Wild Card entry for the Mixed Doubles."

Raising her eyebrows, the older woman tapped on her computer.

"Today is a member's only day. You'll have to do your business, stay out of the way and then clear off, sharpish. Understood?"

The woman's tone was icy. Gwen felt her mouth open in shock. How unwelcoming! Before she could retort an answer back, a blonde woman walked over to her.

"Guinevere Leodegrance? My name is Mithian Alcott." She said, looking down at a clipboard and offering her perfectly manicured hand in a gesture of greeting.

"A pleasure to meet you. It's just Gwen, though," Gwen replied, smiling as she shook the woman's hand enthusiastically - a complete shift in mood to what she had just experienced with the receptionist.

"Ah, yes. I read it was just Gwen. However, now I feel it would be more professional to call you Guinevere. You're here for your Mixed Doubles place, I assume?" Mithian commented. She indicated with her hand that they walk together.

"Yes, it's my first official slam. I am a women's player but I'll settle for anything - I'll play for Men's Veterans if it means I get noticed!"

Mithian laughed. Gwen took in the woman. She looked about 30, with dyed blonde hair piled up on top of her head in a curly pie bun. She wore a long navy skirt and a matching blazer, with a low cut white blouse underneath.

"My darling, you'll be exceptional in the Mixed Doubles. I have high hopes for you. Especially with the partner I have lined up for you!"Mithian exclaimed, grinning. Gwen's smile faltered.

"I don't mean to sound ungrateful, but why me? I'm not even in the Top 100, no matter how hard I try."

"Guinevere, you just answered your own question. You've been working harder than many other female tennis players this year. I really believe in you. Now," she said, swiftly moving on from the topic, "I'd like you to go on Court 6 and warm up. There'll be balls on court. Your partner should be there."

Gwen nodded confidently. Mithian was right - Gwen had worked herself damn hard this past year.

* * *

Arthur sat up on his deck chair as we watched Mithian return to the plush court with a girl, who he assumed was his partner.

She was breath-taking. Her hair was long and bounced to the middle of her back in richly natural curls. She was dressed in a stunning, white tennis dress that clung to every curve of her petite body. The dress was sleeveless, with a lavender stripe running from the short, flattering skirt to the neckline. It was plain, but beautiful - very much like the girl's appearance. Her legs were shapely and long - from Arthur's view, they looked as if they were going on forever. He drank in the image of her, appreciating every angle -

until she turned around.

For her face gave her away, as pretty as it was. Her eyes were intense brown, and her skin was as flawless as her dress - but she was all too familiar. She was indeed the girl who he had met a few days ago early in the morning at the courts. The girl who he'd completely disrespected and disregarded. The girl who, dressed in frumpy clothes, was a totally different person to the goddess he was seeing now.

Her eyes connected with his and he watched as her mouth formed the perfect 'O' shape. Shock formed on her features, and Arthur could feel himself growing hot and uncomfortable. He was not only feeling ashamed of his behavior the other day, but felt insulted that he was being made to play with a wild card. Those feeling were totally wiped out by the overwhelming emotion of desire coursing through his body...physically.

He stood up and glanced down. Fortunately, his desire wasn't too evident.

"I trust you two are complete strangers, right?" Mithian asked, flipping pages in her clipboard. Arthur looked up hesitantly at Gwen - she did the same, biting her lip. _Why didn't I even notice how sexy she was on our first meeting?_ Arthur pondered.

"Something along those lines,"Arthur replied, smirking to himself. He noticed Gwen shuffle from one foot to the other. Mithian must have observed the tension, as she stepped in.

"Well then. Arthur, this is Guinevere Leodegrance, upcoming female for LTA. She won her Regional tour but injury stopped her from progressing to Nationals this year, so she's still 120th seed." Arthur looked Guinevere up and down. It felt like he'd encountered two different people - the scruffy, shy Gwen from last week, and the beautiful, confident Guinevere from today. Mithian turned to Gwen.

"Guinevere, this is Arthur Pendragon. Our top seed. Together, you're the perfect match...we hope."

* * *

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	2. Chapter 2

Wimbledon

"Into the net, Guinevere! Follow her Arthur! Split-step...oh god, no. Start again."

The voice of Coach Gaius Firth was becoming ever more frustrated by the minute. The elder man watched the duo move around the court, analysing their every move. He shook his head and motioned for the couple to come to him.

Arthur shot Gwen an annoyed glance as he stalked off towards Gaius.

"I can't be doing with this. I need to concentrate on the Men's Singles. A nation depends on me - they don't care about a pissing Mixed Doubles tournament!" He ranted, shaking his head and throwing himself into a chair, grabbing a bottle of Powerade. Gwen shuffled from foot to foot.

For Gwen, or "Guinevere" as everyone irritatingly called her, Arthur was being a complete dick. One minute, he was staring at her adoringly, watching her every move as she served or drove a ball into the corner of the tramline. The next moment? He would scathingly storm off court swearing. She put it down to the pressure - he seemed strained from the media and she noticed his expression falter whenever someone mentioned taboo words like "press", "publicity" and "paparazzi".

Gaius sighed.

"Arthur, please just try." The old man expressively moved his eyebrows, conveying exasperation. Suddenly, Gwen bit her lip. She was about to say something she would regret - as much as she tried to hold back, it came to no avail.

"Jesus Christ!" she exploded, glaring at the Number One seed. "Are you trying to piss me off? It's a Doubles competition. You aren't on your own anymore! It's time you started thinking of other people apart from yourself - this could be my only shot at success at a slam and you're willing to throw that away without any form of consideration for me! I understand that you have a lot of pressure on your shoulders and it's difficult to become a Mixed Doubles player overnight...but you are being completely out of order!"

Coach Gaius gazed at the furious female in awe. Arthur just looked gobsmacked.

Gwen fiddled with the edge of her dress and screwed her face up as silence fell.

"I...I'm sorry." She mumbled, before running out of the court and into the large clubhouse.

* * *

Arthur eventually found her at the Wimbledon tube station. She was sitting in nothing but her sparkling tennis dress, Arthur noted. There were few people around, so he approached her.

Brushing a ringlet of soft brown hair away from her face, Gwen looked up immediately as she heard footsteps. She groaned - she'd probably just blown her chances at becoming a successful tennis player.

A navy hoodie clouded her vision. Gwen's eyebrows knitted together in confusion.

"For you," his masculine voice echoed around the station, "it's not exactly warm here."

"You really don't have to - " Gwen said, unsure of how to react.

"Please, Guinevere. Take it. I feel like a big enough dick already." He moaned, sitting down next to her as she slipped the hoodie over her head. It was too big for her, but Arthur couldn't help but gaze - she looked undeniably cute.

"I'm sorry for exploding back there. It was totally exaggerated, and you didn't deserve such bitchiness." Gwen said, rushing her words and Arthur grew bemused.

"Guinevere - you honestly have nothing to apologize about. You told me the truth, which few people do these days, it would seem. I think if I was told the truth more often, I would be so self-absorbed. Everyone bows to my every action because I'm Number 1. I actually really appreciated your words back there - as harsh as they were!" He said, smiling. Gwen giggled.

"I do tend to speak my mind, which probably will get me in trouble with the Umpire!" Gwen stated, causing both of them to fall about laughing at the thought. "That is...if you still want to do it..." she said, remembering how lack-lustre Arthur had sounded earlier.

"It took me about twenty minutes to find you. Every minute I was just thinking of how upset you sounded and how I didn't want to let you down. I thought that if I did it for you, then at least I could be helpful in aiding you to reach your dream. Then, as I was nearing here, I thought to myself - if we win this, we could be history makers. I need to do this tournament for myself as well as you. I need to do this tournament for our partnership." Arthur replied, sounding resoundingly serious.

Gwen looked up at him.

"Thank you." she said, a smile growing on her face. They walked back to the All England Club, together - planning their training for the rest of the afternoon.

* * *

"I cannot do this. I cannot do this. Oh God!"

Gwen paced backwards and forwards, murmuring to herself. She and Arthur had completed a week of solid training and improved their game massively - thanks to Gaius and his age old tactics. Everyone had caught wind of their partnership - the media were having a field day.

Today was the first day of the tournament and Gwen and Arthur were set to play a Russian duo, who were "average" according to Arthur. Gwen felt overwhelmed with stress as she charged around the Locker Room.

Mithian appeared.

"Guinevere - Arthur's waiting for you. You're due on court in eight minutes." Taking a look at the frantic girl, she smiled. "Don't stress. First round matches are always very relaxed and enjoyable. Take it in your stride."

_Easy enough for you to say_, Gwen thought.

She flung her heavy racket bag onto her back and exited the Locker Room, where she bumped straight into Arthur.

"Arthur!" she cried, moving away from him. She raised an eyebrow. "You weren't...waiting for me, were you?"

Arthur gaped. Guinevere was absolutely stunning. Her hair was arranged into two messy, adorable plaits and her skin was free from make up, making her look natural and fresh. Arthur tried to get himself together - and failed, once his eyes landed on her dress. It looked new - the white material contrasted brilliantly against her creamy, chocolate-coloured skin. The fabric was soft and floaty and ran to her thighs, where Arthur could just see the bottoms of red shorts. He felt his mind spin - red was his signature colour: had she gone out and bought a new dress...for him?

"Going to answer my question or...?" Gwen announced, a flirty smile playing on her lips. Arthur snapped out of his reverie.

"Um, yes, I was actually. I wanted to make sure you were ready to go. We should talk tactics." Arthur said plainly. Gwen felt her panic rise up again inside.

"Oh, Christ. I'm forgetting everything we've discussed." Gwen replied, running a hand through her hair. Arthur smiled and pulled her into an alcove, away from everyone.

"We need a high first serve percentage. I aim to serve 100mph for every serve - you need keep low at the net and move into the middle once I've served."

"Mmhmm." Gwen replied, gazing at him. For some reason, being up close and personal to Arthur was giving her feelings that she had never expected to have with him.

"Play tough incoming balls to the weaker player and don't try to overhit them." Arthur continued, trying not to look at Guinevere's soft, inviting lips...

Gwen didn't know what to do with herself. She was overcome with a ruthless attraction that had sprung up from nowhere: her heart hammered in her chest and the feel of Arthur's defined chest pressing close to her was nearly pushing her over the edge.

"Mr Pendragon, Miss Leodegrance. On court, now."

As if by magic, it was over. Mithian stormed past them, not even sparing them a glance but shouting at them to get into action. The corridor which the locker rooms were located on was emptying quickly and as the pair moved out from the alcove, they realised they were alone.

"You're going to be amazing." Gwen commented, smiling up to Arthur as they walked along.

"Me? Guinevere, your talent is unmissable. I can't comprehend why you aren't seeded higher."

"I can." Gwen replied, guffawing at how lame she was compared to Arthur. The 120th seed waited for Arthur's reply, but it didn't come. Instead, she was spun around by him, and his lips came crashing down onto hers. A jolt ran through her spine and butterflies flew in her stomach. His lips were sweet and soft, and his hands wandered from his sides to her face, caressing her skin, before running down her back. He smelled amazing and his kiss was pure gold. For a second, Gwen's thoughts completely blurred by the euphoria that overwhelmed her.

Arthur had taken a wild chance. And it had paid off.

His arms roamed Guinevere, feeling every tiny curve and appreciating her lips...so much.

She broke away from him, as a bell rang through the building. The match was about to start. Impulsively, Arthur picked up her racket bag as well as his own and carried them both on his back. He glanced over at her, nervously, and saw a look of disbelief on her face. Dammit, he thought, I've screwed this up majorly.

"Guin-" He started. Gwen looked over at him

"Thank you." She whispered, smiling. "Let's smash it, okay?"

Walking out onto Court 1, the couple received a rapturous applause. They set their possessions down and shook hands with the Umpire. Arthur noticed Guinevere hiding behind him shyly, smiling to the opponents. The coin toss proceeded - Arthur and Gwen won. They chose to serve.

They'd planned this moment solidly. Gwen moved into the net to volley and slowly turned to observe Arthur. The determination on his face was unmissable.

She took a deep breath. The noise of the audience died down as Arthur went to serve, bouncing the ball meticulously.

Arthur glanced at the Umpire, who raised his hand as a symbol of importance.

"Play."

* * *

"Mr Pendragon and Miss Leodegrance are challenging the call. The ball was called out." The Umpire's announcement was drowned out by the screaming fans, who were in outrage that match point had just been ruined by the ball that Guinevere had bolted deep into the back of the court being called out.

Gwen gazed at the screen. They needed this. This would clinch the second set and ultimately give them the match.

She felt Arthur walk over and stand next to her. Even though they had been playing for nearly 2 hours, Arthur still smelled of his fresh aftershave.

They intently watched the screen. Hawk-eye, the system for checking whether balls were in or out, started up.

The ball flew along the animated program, where it landed...in.

"YES!" a simultaneous shout from both Arthur and Guinevere resounded as they pumped the air triumphantly. Victorious, Arthur grinned at Gwen and grabbed her around the waist, lifting her into the air as they grinned.

They dashed to the net, realising that public showings off affection needed to be halted while they shook hands with their opponents.

* * *

The next day, Arthur and Gwen were back on court, for an intense training session. They'd spent half an hour doing cross-court interceptions and after an hour of serving, they were due a break. Arthur relaxed onto a recliner at the court side and Gwen sat cross legged at his feet, her hair lying over a shoulder in a fish plait.

She sipped a yogurt drink, stretching her trainer-clad feet out in front of her. Arthur yawned.

"Gaius is seriously taking us to the extreme. We're going to have to be careful not to wear ourselves out," he said cautiously, causing Gwen to smirk.

"I would have never thought Mr Number One in the UK would show fatigue...I'm shocked, honestly, I am."  
she replied, hoping that Arthur would bite a return back.

But before he could, a voice interrupted them.

"Arthur," it called, "son."

Gwen's eyes immediately landed and locked on a tall, broad figure. The unmistakeable Uther Pendragon. Dressed in a white polo top and navy slacks, he approached their court with an overwhelming stench of dominance. Arthur flew up from his seat and stood, as if he was at an army roll out.

"Father, what brings you here?" Arthur asked, innocence rolling off his tongue.

"I could ask you the same question."

Gwen noticed Gaius shook his head with frustration and folded his arms neatly, watching the scene unfold with anticipation. She, herself, was completely unaware of what was about to happen.

"I'm sorry?" Arthur's incredulous reply left him wide open from an attack from Uther.

"You should be perfecting yourself for the Singles. You may be through the first roung but that doesn't mean you've won the bloody tournament!" Uther's anger was evident as his volume rose steadily.

"I need to practise for Mixed Doubles, Dad. I've been training for the Singles for all of my life!"

"You're taking this pathetic contest seriously? Arthur, you need to win the Singles to cement your player status! You've joined up with an inadequate wildcard piss-taker for what? The sake of some Mixed Doubles trophies. I highly recommend you drop out before the second round."

Their heated argument continued, but Gwen was no longer listening. Her head reeled.

Inadequate. Wildcard. Piss-taker.

She glowered at Arthur's father, who was now marching an uncomfortable-looking Arthur out of the courts. Gaius was apologizing on Uther's behalf, but Gwen was totally out of it.

Inadequate.

Wildcard.

Piss-taker.

Her blood boiled.

* * *

The ball flew through the air, fluently spinning just so that it landed on the edge of the top of the service line. Gwen nodded at where the ball had landed, acknowledging it but not smiling. Sure, it was a good hit - but she needed it to be better. She would not be labelled as "inadequate".

After another 20 minutes of practising the same ball (and every time it was thumped perfectly into an increasingly challenging position for the opponent), she left the courts to the training centre, which was a short walk up the gravel path. The morning was clear and fresh, and with her next match with Arthur later on in the afternoon, Gwen was making sure she was fully prepared for it.

In the training centre, there was a running track. The athletic tennis player took advantage of this and began doing 400 metre repetitions, jogging around the curves and sprinting down the straights.

It was after she'd finished her fifth repetition - in 67 seconds - she noticed the silhouette of Arthur leaning against the doorway. The training centre had been unlocked but Gwen had used her "Guest" pass to enter - she assumed Arthur must have let himself in also, unless he'd been here the whole time, which wouldn't play well with Gwen.

"You're fast," he commented, lazily pushing himself away from the door and approaching her. Gwen was aware of his shorts clinging to every muscle, and she decided not to look as she could feel herself becoming flustered.

Bringing herself back to reality, Gwen remembered she was still angry with him.

"So are you," she retorted, deliberately not looking him in the eye. She focused on her shoe instead, re-tying the laces so they were tight, "at getting out of an uncomfortable situation, I mean."

"Is this about yesterday?" Arthur asked, shifting from one foot to the other. Gwen crossed her arms, raising an eyebrow. She said nothing, so Arthur took that it was. "I'm so sorry about the way my Father behaved - I guess I kind of have been neglecting my singles duties."

Gwen looked up sharply.

"You shouldn't have signed up for this if you are too committed. You told me that you wanted to win this, so don't go swanning off back to the oh-so-arrogant Mr Singles that followed his father around like you were when we met!"

Arthur squared slightly, flinching at what she said.

"Guinevere," he said, his voice edged with annoyance, "you don't know what it takes to be a singles player. I don't 'follow' my father."

"So what was that yesterday? He completely broke me down and you didn't even stand up for me! I know I'm not Sharapova but I was picked to compete with you for a reason." Gwen said, raising her voice. She was getting angrier and angrier by the second.

"Stand up for you? When I agreed to play with you, I didn't sign up to be your knight in shining armour, okay?"

He said, coolly glaring her down. Gwen's eyes widened.

"I'm sorry, but as we're pretty much in a relationship now, I kind of assumed that you would do so automatically!"

She spat, taking a step away from him. Why was he being like this?

"In a relationship? Kindly enlighten me as to when I sat you down and asked you out?" He asked, incredulously. This was not only ridiculous, but it was petty. He was growing bored of the argument.

Gwen recoiled.

"Bastard," she hissed, before grabbing her sports bag from the side and storming out of the training centre.

* * *

Gaius watched, his expressive eyebrows showing distaste as the pair cold-heartedly dumped another ball in the net. The match had started awfully, with both Arthur and Gwen losing their serves respectively. They were making basic errors - sure, they were playing an awful pair from Lithuania, but they should be absolutely stealing the show. Instead, the Lithuanians were winning 5-3 in the first set.

Gwen timed the ball awfully, mis-hitting it so that it was sent at least two foot past the baseline. She screamed in anger, kicking the court. Arthur just looked away. Gaius felt his insides turn - something had happened between both of them, and whatever it was could cost them the match.

It wasn't long before the first second was practically given to the Lithuanians. Gaius's beady eyes easily spotted Arthur mumbling something to Gwen, who curtly nodded in return. The atmosphere looked tense and thick between them both - he feared for the rest of the match.

Gwen started off by serving into the second set. Her serve had plenty of power and screamed into the service box, kicking up from where it landed to confuse the female Lithuanian, who returned it wildly into the net. A small smile graced Gaius's lips - where it would stay for the rest of the game, as Gwen's serves were right on target.

They both destroyed the Lithuanians in the second game (even though Gaius felt like they weren't properly working together, and their play was very disjointed), and Arthur aced every serve in the third game. It wasn't long before the second set was theirs.

A tie-break commenced between both pairs. Gwen served a hard serve with masses of spin on - but the female Lithuanian powered it back cross-court to her. Gwen reacted quickly, lowering herself to spin back into the tramlines. The Lithuanian didn't break, however, and fired the same shot back at Gwen - who took the pace off the ball and let it roll back over the net. The ball bounced short and the Lithuanian triumphantly ran up to it, ready to blast it - only to slam it straight into the net.

1-0.

The male Lithuanian aced the next point, disappointingly. 1-1.

The male then served a body serve to Gwen, who swerved and counter-attacked by punching it towards the female, who just managed to fumble it back to Arthur. Arthur casually approached the ball and sliced it down the centre of the court, leaving the two Lithuanians to dive shamlessly (and not exactly victoriously) towards the ball. 2-1.

Arthur aced the next two serves, without a doubt. 4-1.

They did have to battle for the next three points, but with Arthur's clean-cut volleys and Gwen's desirable ground-shots, the opposition were left feeling humiliated. 7-1.

The male Lithuanian double-faulted, twice. 9-1.

It was now up to Gwen to serve for the match. She readied herself and threw the ball high into the air, before bringing her racket up and dipping it towards her back, before letting the momentum built and flexing her arm into the sky to fire the ball...straight into the net.

She straightened up, and prepared again. The ball came off the frame of the racket, and went flying out.

A double fault - leaving them at 9-2.

However, the next point was fortunately seamless, and they won the match with Gwen's mid-court put away.

* * *

Shaking hands with the opposition and the umpires, Arthur and Gwen exited the court. As soon as they were in the reception, the sparks started again.

"What was that?"

"You call that a win? That was as shameful as losing 6-0 6-0!"

"You gave me no encouragement whatsoever! I can't believe I still have to play with you!"

"Jesus Christ, I carried us through that..."

"As usual, Mr Pendragon is the breadwinner. After all, I'm so inadequate to play with..."

"...and what was that double fault at the end? My God, Guinevere."

"...you have no idea what it's like to play in my position, as the outsider!"

"The media will be having a field day, all because of your stony glares!"

They paused, realising they had been shouting over the top of each other. Everyone in the lobby was trying not to stare, including Gaius.

Arthur grabbed his sports bag.

"I'm leaving," he muttered finally, walking out of the club confidently. Gwen was left shaking with rage and confusion. The win felt completely crap now, and she had 2 more matches _with him _until the final.

Arthur had hailed a cab and furiously gotten in. Already, he noticed Twitter was reeling with everyone in shock about the pair's behaviour.

_Pendragon and Leodegrance have proper sexual tension going on here! Maaaan they look pissed but focused...I imagine that's what they were feeling last night LOL!_

_Gwen looks so angry, jesus - she just won a match, lighten up!_

_What is going on with these two?! Omg can't believe they lost first set. Should have been a walk-over._

_Apparently Arthur and his new partner just had a massive bust up inside Wimbledon! That explains loads!_

He shut Twitter down angrily. The fans could speculate for as long as they wanted.

He angrily opened a new SMS. He had a choice of two people to text. One of them would reply with eagerness, and the other would probably throw her phone out of the window. He knew who to text.

_Want to go out tonight? Mahiki, 10pm? Bring the gang, need a massive piss-up. Arthur x_

The reply came not even minutes afterwards.

_Darling, of course! Haven't heard from you in weeks, we must catch up tonight. I'll buy you your favourite - vodka with rum and a mango shot? See you soon, your Vivian xxxxxxxx_

Pleased with his work, Arthur shut off his phone. The taxi was pulling up at his house, so he chucked a couple of notes at the driver and leaped out. He needed to have a power nap before anything...

Arthur woke back up around 9pm. He felt suitably refreshed and poured himself a gin before heading to the luxurious bathroom to shave and shower. He soaked his hair before towelling it dry and chucking on a pair of smart, black trousers and a crisp, fresh white shirt. He even added a pair of vintage black braces to the ensemble.

His cab was waiting for him as he left the house, and it wasn't long before he walked along the path to the star-studded club, Mahiki. Paparazzi snapped him as the bouncer gladly let him enter, and Arthur even bothered to chuck them a smile as he smartly whipped past into the club.

_Shots. Blaring music. Dancing. Shots. Gwaine stripping. Drinking games. Prank calling. Vivian getting closer to him. Shots. Vivian on his knee. Leon and Lancelot vomiting. Drunk texts. Kissing Vivian. More dancing. The club emptying. Being asked to leave. Final shots. Exiting the club. Vivian clinging to him. Kissing her. Stumbling around. Paps. Coffee from a greasy spoon. Paps. Vivian crying. More kisses. Gwaine vomiting. Vivian vomiting. Arthur vomiting. More stumbling. Bed._

* * *

As Gwen awoke, she heard the familiar noise of the letterbox of her flat flapping shut as The Daily Mail was pushed through. She had no idea why she read the trash, but it kept her amused in the early hours of the morning. Gwen pushed herself up from the bed, and went to hop out, but realised she had one new message on her Blackberry.

Her heart skipped a beat as she realised it was from Arthur, sent at 2:13 in the morning. He must have been like me - too consumed by our fight to even sleep, Gwen thought gratefully.

She opened the text, and her face fell.

_i Dontt klove you Guinwevere_

Gwen turned her face up in disgust. Arthur usually texted with perfect English - was this a joke? Was he drunk? Or was it someone else texting this?! She was utterly confused.

Moving to get the paper, Gwen kept a hold of her phone. She re-read the text again and again, each time the harsh words cutting her deeper. She picked up the paper and went to go into the kitchen when she froze.

There, on the front page, was none the less than Arthur Pendragon and Vivian Olaf, kissing each other fully as they exited a club. It read: "Pendragon is Wimbledon Playboy" - causing Gwen to snort.

Underneath was an account of the night, with more to follow on the inside. Gwen ripped the paper open to see a full set of photos. She recognised other men photographed as Arthur's friends - they all seemed totally intoxicated. Arthur and Vivian were pictured clutching each other and Arthur's hands were all over her at one point, which made Gwen feel physically sick. She sank to the floor, staring at the pages in front of her. The second paragraph stood out to Gwen in particular:

"_The drunken antics came only hours after Pendragon just scraped through into the Quarter-Finals of Wimbledon with his partner Guinevere Leodegrance. The pair were said to be officially courting, however, the atmosphere in the match was awfully cold and the pair barely acknowledged one another. Arthur seemed happy and gleeful as he kissed Vivian in the cold - so the Daily Mail can only assume Pendragon's affairs with Leodegrance are well and truly over._"

Gwen could feel her heartstrings snap. This was too much for her. A salty tear made its way down her cheek.

* * *

Thank you for reading! The response I got for last chapter was overwhelming so I've raced to get this one out! I should be able to wrap it up in the next chapter, but if I can't, it'll be a four-chapter fic :) I know where I'm going with this one so if it takes another two chapters to finish it, then so be it.

Please be aware that I've added a new collab fanfiction for Robin Hood. You can find it on my profile, and I'd really recommend giving it a read! It's called Protect Me, Perfect Me and it centres around an OC called Elena and her relationship with Allan A'Dale.

I'm also going to be adding a new fanfiction this week! Very exciting - as I'm going away for two weeks next week, I'll make sure all of my fanfictions are well updated.

Reviews are loved - I really need your thoughts on this chapter as I was slightly unhappy with the way I'd set it out. Anyway, love to all :)


	3. Chapter 3

Wimbledon

The hot, intoxicating aroma of black coffee was almost too much for Arthur Pendragon's stomach as he held the steaming mug in his hands. He sniffed it, curiously - only to shirk away from the mug, as if it was inferior. He could conquer some of the greatest tennis players on the planet with ease, but when it came to breakfast with a hangover, the blonde was lost. Groaning, Arthur raised an eyebrow at the mug and shook his head, placing it down on his kitchen worktop and sinking down onto a brushed steel stool in defeat.

_I don't even want to think about what happened last night._

Arthur ran his hands through his hair haphazardly; a trait of his that many of his followers had picked up on when he was losing a match. Pushing the blonde strands away from his forehead, he desperately tried to recall the previous night. Apart from consuming an ungodly amount of alcohol, he was at a loss to what happened. With a sigh, he remembered the impending match he had today, and lazily threw some whey protein oatmeal into a bowl and microwaved it. The porridge resembled what his deceased hamster looked like, back in 1999. It took an incredible level of tolerance to fight the inner battle to keep it in his stomach, and after eating two-thirds of the bowl, Arthur dumped it in the bin. He returned to his stool, and glared at his coffee, which was still making his stomach turn.

Fortunately, the drill of the house intercom broke his internal feud with the caffeine. Dressed only in his pyjama shorts, he made his way to the door, pulling the contemporary-style door open without haste.

Arthur hadn't even thought about who would be at the door; perhaps a delivery of some sorts. He certainly hadn't been expecting Mithian.

Or, more to the point, an angry Mithian. Arthur stood holding the door open, as his jaw slackened. Mithian was wearing her usual dramatic make up, and her sharp black suit. She forced her way past him, snorting.

"What, not expecting me? Surely you weren't expecting _Gwen _were you?"

Realisation of the night before rolled in like a thunderstorm. Arthur nearly ripped the door off the hinges as he clenched it in rage - most of which, he was the cause of. He remembered a lot of kissing and groping and drunken excitement - with Vivian.

With the wrong girl.

"Or, perhaps you were expecting a flurry of media reporters?" Mithian commented, storming into his open plan kitchen as she bitterly threw a copy of this morning's Daily Mail at him. "Congratulation, Pendragon," the female added, watching him with a devious look on her face as she revelled in his hung over state, "you managed to make the front page, and not for losing another grand slam final."

A rush of swear words hurtled out of Arthur's lips. He had not intended to do this. He was front page. He scanned the article quickly - noting words like "party animals", "out of character", "playboy", "hot date" and "mortal". He also noticed a photo of Gwen, entering her flat earlier that day with her head down - followed by a whole paragraph on how "alleged lover Guinevere Leodegrance is heartbroken at the shocking scandal". The blonde tennis player wanted to throw it away and erase it from his memory...but he opened the paper tentatively; only to get an eyeful of a two-page spread of revealing photos.

Arthur was unbeknownst to what happened next. Somehow, the paper was on the floor and he was swearing and lashing out at anything in sight. He'd messed up. Majorly.

"Seriously, Arthur, give it up. You've pissed her over and now it's time to make up for that. Okay? I woke up this morning to a voicemail from a crying Guinevere, saying that she's going to withdraw from the tournament. If she does, my job is gone, and so is both of your reputations. I'm giving you until 2pm to change her mind - the match is at 4." Mithian ripped his fridge open and stared blankly inside. She grabbed all the alcohol inside and dumped it into his trash can.

"Guinevere..she...she wants...she can't!"

Mithian sat down near him. "She can, and she will – unless you go and talk her out of it. Which, I'm not sure how you're going to do, considering you still have that slut's lipstick all over your face."

Shamefully, Arthur wiped at his face. She was right – Vivian had totally come onto him freely last night, and Arthur had given in without a care. He was completely embarrassed, and more importantly, he had an awfully sickening feeling in his stomach that he had ruined everything with Guinevere. Mithian had been a good friend to him for years, and he trusted her judgement, so he decided to ask for her help.

"What do I do, Mithian? We had a massive fight yesterday. I was angry, furious; I got pissed. It happened to be with Vivian - now Guinevere isn't going to forgive me or participate. If you were Guinevere, what would it take for you to completely forgive me?" He asked desperately. Mithian shrugged.

"Depends," she said nonchalantly, "did you sleep with her?"

Arthur shook his head furiously.

"No! No, of course not. I mean, it's not like I've cheated on Guinevere as I haven't technically asked her out...but I have kissed her and we've done stuff...I haven't slept with her either...but I didn't even mean to kiss Vivian! We were drunk! Well, I was..."

Mithian tutted.

"Arthur, you need to get yourself together. I'm not one for love lives but this needs to be sorted before I lose a player."

"I know, I know. I want to be with Guinevere, I really do. She's smart and beautiful and talented and she makes me feel like such a better person..."

"Then why aren't you?!"

"Because I am, single-handedly, a massive dick. I planned to ask her out but then we got into a fight yesterday about my dad – which lead to both of us saying things we didn't mean to each other. I stormed out and I was craving a drink – this lead to last night."

"There's only one thing you can do now, Pendragon," Mithian said, getting up from her seat and dumping her cup in Arthur's sink. She picked up all of her papers and stood in front of him confrontationally, "apologise."

Arthur nodded, biting his lip. He needed a long think about how to go about this the right way.

* * *

After Mithian had cleared off, Arthur had hopped in the shower. He scrubbed himself clean, freeing his body of the stench of alcohol and lipstick stains. He washed his hair and then dried off, before slipping into his favourite pair of soft, comfortable, baggy jogging bottoms and a Nike tank top, before pulling his official Pendragon hoodie over the top. He decided to go for a run and clear his thoughts before confronting Guinevere, hopefully a decision he would appreciate later.

He slipped his iPhone into his back pocket and shoved the earphones into his ears.

_Nobody said it was easy_

_It's such a shame for us to part_

_Nobody said it was easy_

_No one ever said it would be this hard_

_I'll take it back to the start_

Arthur flicked the song off. _Pissing Coldplay, _he mused, _why does Chris Martin always know exactly what to say and I don't?_

He mulled over the lyrics as he ran throughout South London, his feet kicking at the pavement. Emotion filled him fluidly. He knew that he'd seriously, seriously messed up. How was he going to repay Guinevere? He didn't want to end things with her (even though he'd barely started things with her), but he felt like it was inevitable.

He was just going to have to be completely open with her. He's apologise profusely, and deliver it so well that she'd tearfully hug him and then he'd take his chance and ask her out and they'd go on to win the Wimbledon title...

Arthur felt himself get carried away. He needed to focus. He took a swig of his water and ran down a grassy stretch of field, running to the sound of Alex Clare as he completed another kilometre. He'd run about six kilometres by the time he decided to turn around and head back home.

That was, until he reached Gwen's flat. He wasn't usually around East London – his social status being the main reason – but as he jogged in, he couldn't help but stare. Everyone was outside, smiling and shouting happily across the road to friends or strangers. The sun beamed down on younger children, who were pre-occupied on scooters and skateboards, or some of them were just running about freely. A pang of sadness hit Arthur – he never had this with his Father, Uther.

Arthur noted the lack of cars. In Southern London, everyone drove cars. You would rarely see people walk somewhere – it was all Jeeps and Range Rovers. Here, plenty of adults and teenagers filled the streets, jovially walking along and taking up most of the space on the path. Arthur slowed to a walk – he knew Guinevere lived in a block of flats around this area...he just needed to find it. He suddenly paused as a wave of genius overwhelmed him. He ran off in the other direction, to the nearest tube: Gwen deserved a token to show his apologies.

* * *

Over an hour later, he was standing back in East London, outside of Arsdon Flats.

Arthur stared up at the building. It was one of the nicest in the area, with faded bricks and sweet, tiny balconies tacked on. It wasn't anything near the standard of South London but, for once, Arthur didn't really care. All he cared about was making it up to Guinevere.

He jogged up the flights of stairs and arrived at number 14 – Guinevere's place.

* * *

As the doorbell rang, Gwen knew it would be Mithian. Coming to beg her not to leave. Coming to apologize for Arthur's sake. Coming to be desperate.

She was dressed in an oversized, burgundy, woolly jumper that was at least four sizes too big, and a pair of clingy leggings – what she called her "bumming" outfit. She'd only wear this outfit when she wasn't working out or busy – and she'd sit and bum around at home. Lazily, she got to her feet. There was no make up on her face at all (she'd cried it all off earlier) so she was the picture of innocence.

Opening the door, Gwen froze.

_Not him. Anyone but him._

"Guinevere, before you close the door, please just listen to me." Arthur stated, staring her in the face. He didn't look remotely hung-over, which Gwen was quite frankly gutted about – she'd been hoping that if he was to by chance turn up, he'd look a wreck. Instead, he turned up with perfectly styled hair and that face that turned her insides to liquid mess. Gwen stood there, plainly, her gaze shifting awkwardly. Arthur stepped slightly closer to her - desperate to reenact the kiss they'd shared merely days ago.

"I know you probably hate me now. I know you do, you don't have to deny it. If I was a girl and the guy who kissed me many times but didn't ask me out then kissed another girl publicly then I would be really..." he fought for the words, "...really pissed. But I want you to know that if I hadn't been so hammered off my face then I would not have kissed her. It meant nothing. We didn't sleep together, and I harbour no feelings whatsoever for Vivian. After we had the fight, I was so full of regret and anger that I just wanted a drink. I went out and it all unfolded from there...but as soon as I woke up this morning, all I could think about was you and how I'd let you down..."

He trailed off. Guinevere remained emotionless. She wanted to hug him and kiss him but something inside of her screamed against it. She stood in the doorway, holding the door, just staring blankly at him.

She felt herself snap into action.

"Um, right..." she said, moving to allow him inside. She didn't really know what to say.

"I hope you can forgive me, Guinevere." He admitted, gazing into her eyes. He briefly looked around her flat – it was incredibly tidy, with cute photos of Gwen's family dotted around the ivory coloured walls.

"Arthur," she started, heaving a sigh, "I don't know what you've come to do. Apologise so I'll stay in the tournament? You and I both know that I'm not wanted. Mithian is the only one who wants me there. Apologise so we can start some sort of relationship? I don't see myself with you, Arthur. I thought maybe we had something but now I know that we aren't right for each other. You lead the life of bachelor celebrity icon. I live in a flat in run down East London."

She watched Arthur's jaw slacken and she went on.

"Fair enough, I have feelings for you. But no matter how much you convince yourself," she paused, throwing a look towards the morning paper that was covered with Arthur's dreaded photos – which Arthur noticed, and followed her line of sight to the paper and groaned inwardly, "you don't reciprocate them."

Arthur decided it was time to make a move, and he produced a box from behind his back. He noticed Guinevere's gaze flicker in confusion to his hands.

"I'm not trying to get you back in the tournament or engage in a relationship with you. Although, if I did manage both of those things, I would be beyond happiness. I came here to apologise to you – it's the least I can do."

He presented her with the box and Gwen gingerly removed it from his hands. She shot a reluctant glance at Arthur as he leaned back against her wall.

She lifted the lid.

Inside, hidden underneath layers of tissue, were two sparkling white trainers. They were Nike, of course, with lavender and scarlet coloured laces. They were her exact size, and on the backs of the trainers, they were personalised. One trainer, the left one, read "Pendragon". The other read "Leodegrance".

Gwen raised an eyebrow.

"I do believe you are trying to get me back in the tournament."

Arthur smirked to himself.

"Guinevere, I know you. You can hate me all you want but when it comes to your dream, nothing will detract you from it. I was hoping these trainers would remind you of that."

Gwen blushed and looked at the ground intensely. She spoke up shyly.

"I don't hate you," she murmured, just loud enough for Arthur to hear. Her tiny admission comforted him in every way possible.

"So you'll do it? You'll compete with me still?" He probed, biting his lip as soon as the question left his mouth. Gwen put the trainers to one side.

"Yeah. I guess so. Not for you though – only for me. This is the only way I can achieve my dream."

Arthur grinned and bounced over to her.

"I knew it, Guinevere, I knew you would!" He exclaimed, wrapping an arm around her middle to hug her too him. Or so he hoped to do.

Gwen bristled and pushed him hard away from her. Arthur stumbled back, stunned for a moment.

"You think this makes it okay? Do you really think a pair of trainers and a planned out apology will make everything perfect again?" She raged. Arthur stopped himself from getting angry and decided to be completely honest – in trying to calm her.

"I'm sorry, Guinevere. I know that I've messed up, and I'm just so happy you haven't let yourself down by dropping out. You don't deserve that. I do want us to be together, Guinevere. I really do. I've acted like an ass-"

"...and you're really sorry, you didn't mean any of it. You've already spoken these words, Arthur. Don't expect me to jump to every word you say. I don't want us to be together right now, got it? You aren't who I thought you were. Sure, I'll do the tournament with you. Just don't get your hopes up for anything more." Gwen let her words tumble out of her mouth. She hoped they would show Arthur just how hurt she was. She stared up at him, noticing his jaw clench. He nodded slowly.

"I understand, Guinevere. I understand." The overwhelming tone of defeat in his voice was hard to miss, and for a moment, Gwen relished in it. "Up to play the match in 2 hours minutes time?" he asked, hoping to lighten the mood.

Gwen paused.

"2 hours? Tell me you're kidding!" She screeched, charging to her bedroom.

Arthur shuffled awkwardly as he heard her getting changed.

"I'll run back to my house and get changed and pick you up in 20 minutes, okay?" He asked, nervously. He half expected her to scream about a relationship with him, but instead he heard her subdued call of gratitude. Arthur pelted it out of her flat and down the stairs, realising that he had 20 minutes to run the 6km home. This was going to be interesting.

* * *

They made it to the courts in record time. Arthur had felt a pang of anguish when he noticed that Guinevere was not wearing the trainers that had he'd gone and diligently bought for her before he visited her house, but he didn't make a comment. He was a fool to think he was forgiven – but at least she was doing the tournament. He would have felt so awful if she had missed out on her ambition.

In the car ride there, Arthur had driven them in style. They'd turned up in his Bentley, much to Gwen's secret happiness. She wouldn't let it on though – inside, she still ached from Arthur's actions yesterday.

They'd spent most of the time discussing techniques and tactics, and Arthur had attempted at asking her some small talk but Guinevere was not in the talking mood, apparently.

When they arrived, Mithian strode over and embraced Gwen, who slumped in the hug. Gwen looked tired and the match hadn't even begun – Arthur noted to himself, worry lines forming on his forehead at the thought. Mithian thanked Guinevere for turning up and let her go, before patting Arthur on the shoulder and whispering: "Good job, Pendragon".

The pair went to get warmed up on the court. They hit against each other for a few moments after doing sprints and jogs. Arthur had truthfully expected Gwen to really hit some hard balls at him, the extent of her rage coming out now – but instead, she hardly tried. She really did look tired and Arthur was growing nervous for her.

The match arrived and both Arthur and Guinevere entered the court to elated applause. Everyone was clapping and screaming for them both – Arthur even noticed a few "Mrs Arthur Pendragon" banners. He cringed at the thought of the girls who held them had only been spurred on by his humiliating media coverage this morning.

The game started off well. Arthur was surprisingly calm and collected, and he hit precise winners frequently. Gwen was less cool – she double faulted twice in her opening serve and dumped a few volleys into the net. Despite Arthur's initial disappointment, he kept shooting her warm, encouraging smiles and high-fiving her when necessary. They couldn't let this match get away.

The first set was took by Arthur's shining counter-punching skills. Luckily, even Guinevere got into the game, wellying some amazing backhands down the line and bringing home the points. The second set breezed past, and Arthur found himself grinning as he served for the match. His serve wasn't an ace but it was difficult for their opposition – two Czech players who had often ended up shouting at each other as they progressed to their imminent failure – to return. The male Czech just got it back in, where Guinevere smartly intercepted and drove the volley to the female Czech player's feet. She just scooped it up into the air and (completely by fluke) lobbed Gwen. Gwen ducked and Arthur bounded into place. He waited for the ball to fall to the right height. Seconds passed. _Smash_. Arthur let his arm explode into the ball's path, sending it searing across to the back of the court, where it bounced in. No one returned it, so Arthur leaped into the air victoriously.

He pulled himself to his feet and glanced up to see Guinevere shaking their opponents' hands. He sidled up alongside her, also shaking their hands as an act of good sportsmanship.

After signing a few autographs, Arthur left the court and entered the lobby of the clubhouse. Guinevere followed him meekly, as Arthur beamed and spoke to Officials, laughing off their comments about the previous night.

"That was amazing! We just owned that." He said, his jubilant mood showing rather evidently as he turned an exhausted-looking Guinevere.

"Guinevere?" Arthur stopped walking, turning around with concern etched upon his facial features, "you okay?"

Gwen shook her head. He had noticed that by the end of the match she had become laboured, but her power was still there in her shots, so he hadn't paid too much attention to it. Now, he noticed she looked utterly shattered - a small line of concern wormed its way onto his forehead.

"No, I didn't sleep very well and I've never played this much in a tournament and so many things are going on right now that I don't think I'm even fit to play!" She rushed her words, her silky voice becoming increasingly high-pitched. The more things she listed, the quicker her voice became. Arthur tentatively placed an hand on her shoulder.

"Guinevere," he spoke slowly, "calm down. We won. You were inspirational."

The dark-haired tennis player shot him a doubtful look, but her facial features relaxed - indefinitely.

"Um, I...should go." She whispered, backing away from Arthur, who couldn't stop an expression of regret emerging onto his face. She half-smiled and took a deep breath.

But Arthur wasn't finished.

"Guinevere," he began, repeating her name again to show how much he appreciated it. He then paused, struggling to put into words what he wanted to say without sounding clingy, "I don't want you to feel pressured in this tournament. You have every right to be here. You're not going to be the one the nation insults; you're going to be the one the world looks up to."

A pink blush crept onto Gwen's face. She was about to reciprocate but the looming figure of Uther Pendragon crept into view, and she decided to make her exit. She ducked her head, moving away slowly as her racket bag weighed her lithe body down.

_She is perfect and you don't deserve that._

Arthur tried so hard to banish his thoughts as his father approached him, in the all-purpose manner that Uther Pendragon always carried himself, but he couldn't help but dejectedly watch Guinevere's retreating, tired figure.

"Arthur."

The stone cold voice penetrated his thoughts immediately. Why was it that his father was so...commanding?

"Yes, father? Have you come to cause destruction again?" Arthur replied, his return laced with a sardonic tone. It was a side of Arthur that he preferred not to emerge – once he started saying things, he usually couldn't stop.

"Let me get you a drink, son," Uther said, offhandedly. He murmured to the barman and returned quickly – it was all a very cool, collected affair. Two minutes of uncomfortable silence later, the barman sped over with two glasses of scotch on the rocks. Arthur raised his hand.

"I'm not drinking." He commented, his body becoming stoic.

"Oh, of course. I did notice your _subtle _attempt at courting the Lot girl...Vivian, isn't it? I couldn't make her out, the drink on the girl obscured her in the photographs." Uther replied. Arthur knew where this was going.

"Yes, it's a shame she led me on so well. I was completely inebriated and she wasn't. She took advantage of me, if you like." Arthur hoped he would hit a nerve with his father. It was not to be

"You looked rather in control, Arthur, whether you want to believe it or not. I stand by the fact that you and Miss Lot would make an excellent couple."

"Give it up, Dad!" The younger Pendragon shouted. There were few people milling around, but any who hadn't been looking at the relatives were now doing so. "I get that you don't like Guinevere. But we are into the semi-finals! If she was so bad, then we would not be here!"

Uther refused to look up, or meet Arthur's flaming eye. He simply stared straight ahead – the aged, piercing blue eyes that his son had inherited so obviously focusing on the view out of the large windows.

His jaw was set in an indignant way – Arthur had seen it look the same when he had asked where his Mummy was, when he was about four.

"You're carrying her, Arthur."

The words cut through him like ice. He knew it wasn't the truth. He knew it. Guinevere put the same, if not more, effort in as him – perhaps Arthur was stronger, but Guinevere had the ability to break the opposition down and not even break into a sweat.

"She's better than what any other player could only dream of being and she doesn't even know it."

The words were whispered furiously by Arthur, and as Uther's expression changed to shock, the young man took it in his stride to turn and stride away, hoping not to see his father for the next week until they were in the final

* * *

A soft moan escaped Gwen's lips. She couldn't help it – the warm feeling spreading through quickly was better than what she had ever experienced. It completely undid all the pain she had coursing through her bones and made her feel like a liquid mess.

She always enjoyed a massage – but this was out of this world.

She moaned again, and a snort from the other side of the room followed. Gwen turned her head – only slightly, as she was pressed into the soft bed – to scowl at the creator of the snort. Arthur.

"What's so funny? I'm enjoying myself." She explained, shooting Arthur an angry look as he laughed harder.

"Seriously, Guinevere," his voice sounded strained as the masseuse suddenly applied brutal pressure to his lower back, "you need to restrain yourself. It's worrying."

Gwen raised an eyebrow as she watched him squirm under the pressure. It was all rather amusing – but pleasuring at the same time.

"Please. This is the whole reason I signed up to take part in the tournament. The massage is beyond...oh my god..."

A sharp press to Gwen's lower back caused her to fall further into the bed and giggle. This caused further eruptions from Arthur's bed. The masseuses shot each other confused faces. The young tennis players were now roaring with laughter - something generally unheard in the massage rooms. Usually, it was angry shouts of pain.

Gwen pulled away from the bed and subtly replaced the towel draped around her with clothes as Arthur preoccupied himself with the mens' changing room. Gwen returned dressed in a pair of flattering black shorts and a thin, white cotton tunic, which was almost transparent. Arthur couldn't deny her cuteness - it was beyond comprehension, at times.

The masseuses briefly discussed when to fit in more appointments with the pair, and left hurriedly to go off to deal with two Greek players. Today was the day of Semi Final 1 - involving the Greek duo Mani Hansen and Adrell Kitson, and their opponents, the notoriously unbeatable American duo, Lance Du Lac and Morgana Gorlois. Tomorrow would be the British couple's turn to battle for the place in the final.

"Excited?" Arthur asked, watching Guinevere pull her hair back into a messy bun. She was mesmorising.

"For tomorrow, you mean?" She spun, looking up at him curiously. He edged closer to her, a smile forming on his lips.

"Yes, your first Wimbledon semi-final, it's a momentous occasion..." The blonde trailed off, gazing down at her. The atmosphere was becoming increasingly intense, and Arthur visibly shrunk away as Guinevere turned to grab her rucksack. She slung it over her shoulders and flipped back around.

"Surely your singles match is more important?" She asked, hinting at Arthur's match that afternoon that he was desperately trying to forget about. He'd only scraped through his last match, and he was up against an even tougher opponent - the highly acclaimed Mordred Waters, who had three grand-slam titles to his name. Intimidating, but not impossible.

"Don't absorb my father's opinion, please, Guinevere. I'm treating them equally - if I'm honest, I feel like we have a better chance in this competition, compared to my performance in the singles..." His voice adopted a tone of disappointment - the cause of which Gwen could not determine, whether it was her, his father, or himself.

"Arthur, don't. You are a winner in everyone's eyes, whether you lose 6-0 6-0 6-0 in this match, or you win the final 7-5 7-5 7-5." Gwen wanted to say more, but in their circumstances, "and I love you no matter win or lose" would probably sound inappropriate.

* * *

"Aren't you supposed to be resting up for tomorrow?"

Gaius's voice broke into Gwen's thoughts as she stared across the court. It was 3:56pm, and Arthur was due on court with Mordred Waters in 4 minutes. She had debated whether to go home and stretch/sleep, but the overwhelming urge to watch Arthur won her over, and now she was sitting in his private team box, along with his father, his two coaches, Mithian, Gaius, and his friends, Merlin, Gwaine and Percival. His father sat with a younger, model-like girl, and a plumper, greying man. Undeniably, the girl was Vivian. Gwen felt her stomach drop at least 40 feet - this girl was even more stunning than the press made her out to be. She had long, straight blonde hair, and a tiny figure. Not an inch of fat on her. She had porcelain, flawless skin and even her dress sense was to be admired - she wore a short orange dress, with a white leather jacket. Photographers and paparazzi were moving on to the court sidelines; and immediately their lenses were directed at Vivian. Gwen used her initiative to work out that the older man was Vivian's father, an esteemed man, by all accounts.

Gwen shuffled in her seat uncomfortably. She felt so inadequate, in her skin-tight grey jeans and knitted jumper. Mithian was to her left, in her usual work suit. She never looked anything less than professional. To her right, was Gaius - sporting his universally famed track suit. The track suit hadn't changed since the 70's, according to Mithian.

The sold-out crowd erupted as the two players emerged from the doors - Mordred in a white and black ensemble, Arthur in white and red. Gwen watched the blonde as he held up his hand to the crowd in a gesture of greeting. The audience was screaming, yet Arthur looked completely collected. Gwen let the beaming smile on her face show - in that moment, there was something about Arthur that gave her the most incredible sense of pride. He looked so confident, so happy to be there...he looked perfect.

Arthur turned to his private box and smiled up - when he noticed Gwen, his face lit up like a firework. He waved at her, and she waved back enthusiastically. Suddenly, a flurry of cameras turned on her, and their companionable wave was now captured for the world to see.

But Gwen didn't care. She couldn't have cared less, in all honesty. Looking between the shouting paparazzi and the glares she was receiving from Vivian and Uther, Gwen came to a monumental decision.

_All this time, I've been thinking that I'm not good enough. All this time I've underestimated myself because everyone else did. I've been scared. I've been doubtful. If I want to win this final, I don't just need faith in Arthur. I need faith in myself._

And with that, Guinevere Leodegrance threw her head back and smiled her brightest, most confident smile she could at the cameras - giving them a small wave as their shouts became louder. She then eyed up the court - Arthur was hitting up with Mordred. From the observer's eye, it looked relaxed. However, Gwen knew that, inside, Arthur would be tense. Every tennis player was pre-matches. Gwen caught Vivian raising a critical eyebrow at her - to which, she replied with a small, secretive smile. The blonde flipped around, scowling. Gwen felt good. Very good.

* * *

Arthur did not feel good. He'd lost the first set by two games - which was gutting for him, especially watching Guinevere continue to smile and applaud him - where his father stilled at the end of every point. Unfortunately, Arthur was used to his father's attitude.

"Waters leads, 4-3. Pendragon to serve."

Arthur bounced the ball four times. He stared down his target and inhaled. He lifted his racket in one, swift, fluid motion and let it caress the ball powerfully. The ball came clean off his strings and flew over the net.

"NO!"

The call of the linesman shocked Arthur. He immediately indicated that he challenged the call. With bated breath, he stared at the Hawk Eye screen - which showed the path of the ball to its landing point, which out of the service box. The crowds let out an audible sigh, and so did the player himself. This was not going to plan. He raised his eyebrows and shrugged, before going to serve for his second service. The ball landed in the net, and Arthur suddenly realised that he was going to lose.

* * *

"Go on, Arthur! You can do this! Don't let him take it!"

It was match point to Waters. Gwen watched Arthur, noting his expression. His eyes, the most earnest of eyes she'd ever seen, were filled with quiet desperation. Arthur waited for the serve. The match had gone quickly...every point ripped out of Arthur's hands by a vicious Waters. Fair enough, Arthur had taken a fair few games, and he'd only lost the second set 6-4, and similarly the first set 7-5. He was now down 5-2, and it was Mordred's Ad.

The dark-haired player served, the side-spin applied to the ball causing it to shoot off towards the tram lines. Arthur reacted quickly and spun it back to the back of the court. Mordred took advantage of this and moved into a position so he could slice the ball, landing it just over the net. Arthur sprinted forwards, and just reached the ball. He replicated Waters' shot, but Mordred had anticipated it - he was already moving into the net, closing it down. Mordred's shot was harsh and fast, and Arthur leaped to volley it. His volley landed mid-court, and Mordred had to run backwards in a rush to return it - but the rally kept going. Arthur dropped back to baseline and powered the ball cross-court, giving him an advantage as Mordred was out of position. Mordred was hurrying his shots back, causing them to drop all over the court. Arthur rushed to return one from inside the service box, and passed it to Mordred's feet. He was stunned that the leading player was able to return it - and before Arthur knew it, it was almost over his head. Almost. He sprang into the air from one foot, and threw his racket at the ball. He felt them collide and as he landed gracefully, he watched the ball soar.

Into the net.

Waters fell to the ground, throwing his racket away as he realised he was into the Wimbledon Final. Arthur stared at the net for a few moments, in utter disbelief. The tournament that he'd been so hyped up for...he'd completely lost it all. Arthur waited patiently at the net for Mordred to come and shake his hand, unmoving. The crowd were shouting for Mordred, but he couldn't help but notice that the roar would have been so much louder for him. Arthur glanced at his trainers, trying not to let any of his emotion escape.

"Congratulations," he mumbled, trying to smile. It was a challenging task. Mordred shook his hand - a little firmer than Arthur would have liked - and shook his head in amusement.

"To think I was scared to play you," he smirked, "it was an easy game." Waters moved away to shake the Umpire's hand, before continuing around the court on a victory lap. Arthur was shell-shocked. He glowered at his victor momentarily, before shaking his head and shaking the Umpire's hand also (an obligatory notion). Arthur packed his equipment away, moving robotically. His heart and soul were still in the match, but the harsh truth was that his presence was no longer there. He'd failed, and this changed everything.

* * *

Sorry for the delay! It's been a month! I'm in need of a new laptop, so if anyone wants to donate one to me, it'd be much appreciated, thanks :3 ANYWAY, thanks for reading the chapter, and PLEASE REVIEW! Ps. MERLIN IN FREAKING 10 DAYS WHAT THE HELL OH MY GOD.

2 chapters left, I believe. This has turned out to be much longer than I intended. Meh, nothing wrong with that :')


	4. Chapter 4

Wimbledon

As expected, the reaction to Arthur's surprising loss was huge. Masses of photographers went wild, cornering him as he left the court. From Guinevere's seat, she could tell he was emotional. It pained her to watch him look so...forlorn.

"I wasn't expecting that," Mithian commented, idly admiring her nails. Gwen thought she would be angry with Arthur: but apparently not, "Mordred Waters has really brought his game up."

"Arthur didn't give up, though. That's the most important thing. He fought until the end." Gwen articulated. She watched Arthur as he passed their private box.

"Son!" Uther's cold tone wasn't particularly loud, but everyone in the box quietened for him to speak. Typical.

Arthur lifted his head and stopped in front of the team. He avoided his father's stare momentarily, and glanced up to Gwen. She shot him the most comforting look she could manage, but she could see the overwhelming disappointment in his eyes. _Those beautiful, blue eyes._

His gaze flickered to his irate-looking father. It was a situation where, had it been portrayed in a cartoon, the characters would all gulp nervously in an over-exaggerated manner. Awkwardly, the father and son made eye contact, and leaning closer, Uther made sure he was in full paparazzi view. Whispering in his son's ear, the older Pendragon's expression was so obviously angry. The paps were having a field day - Gwen wanted nothing more than to jump heroically in front of them and steal away the attention from the private moment between the two.

With that, Arthur moved away from his father. Gwen had no idea what had been said, but she was concerned - especially as Arthur quickly moved away, into the changing rooms. Gwen jumped up to go after him - but suddenly realised that she may not be allowed. She'd never been in this position before.

Mithian soon reassured her. With a small tug of a smile on her perfectly inked lips, she nodded at Gwen.

"Go after him, Guinevere. He'll be hurting like a bitch."

And so, Gwen took off out of their open box and coursed through the interior of the club. She wasn't exactly sure where he would be - it was a choice between his private changing room, the massage room, or the physio's office. Going with her instincts, the petite brunette stormed down a sloping corridor, where Arthur's small changing room was located. Pushing open the door, she peeked inside tentatively.

No one.

Arthur's racket bag and personal bag were gone - as well as the hoodie he nearly always kept on his door. Gwen stepped inside, inhaling the welcoming smell of his rich aftershave. The totally overwhelming, beautifully warming, intoxicating scent...

Gwen shook her head. _Focus. Find Arthur. _

It took Gwen another ten minutes to search the physio and massage rooms, where, surprisingly, Arthur was absent from.

"Have you seen Arth - Mr Pendragon?" Gwen corrected herself, as she asked the tight-lipped receptionist. The blonde raised her eyebrows at what she was wearing, before adjusting her classes.

"Mr Pendragon left the building roughly about 15 minutes ago, pretty much immediately after he was knocked out of the tournament. I can't give away personal details, however."

The woman turned back to her desktop computer with a smirk. Gwen felt a small bubble of rage.

"No! If you know where he is I need to know! Please!" Her voice took on a desperate tone, however, it caused the woman behind the reception desk to pause. She glanced at her fiery client before resting her pen on the desk and sighing.

"He stormed out of the doors and went west. He didn't take his car. Is that alright for you?" The receptionist mumbled, intruiged by Gwen's sudden change of expression. Gwen herself felt elated as she realised where he would be - and she thanked the receptionist profusely before running as fast as her size five feet could.

* * *

The stream of profanities running through Arthur's thoughts were completely out of character for the blonde, but he didn't care. He sat at the bottom of Wimbledon tube station, hidden away from the busy circulation of tube passengers that had just left the match. As hidden as Arthur was, he was no fool - he could sense the overwhelming air of disappointment.

_Disappointment from the fall of a worshipped hero. The fall of Arthur Pendragon, the failure of the boy who was never loved. _

Wallowing in self-despair, he hugged his knees in an attempt to keep warm - Gaius's constant ramblings about lactic acid were suddenly heeded. As Arthur sat in the said position, he began to think deeply about his past. Random memories flooded into his mind - Uther forcing him to go to his tennis lesson when it was storming, Uther taking a business meeting in the middle of his first match and missing him win, Uther refusing to speak to him for a week after he pulled out of a match with a knee injury.

_Is it worth it? Is it worth losing so many things? I've lost my family, my pride, normality. _

Minutes passed, and Arthur watched from his hiding place at the bottom of the tube line as the station gradually emptied. Wimbledon was never particularly busy - generally the place was rather tranquil, if you omitted the crowds that suddenly appeared through June.

"I guess I've returned the favour."

Flipping his head around, Arthur blinked. The figure of none other than Guinevere stood merely metres away from him. Appreciatively, he smiled at her. Basked in the dimming sunlight, she really was something to behold. The curls. The curves. The muscular legs. The smile. The collarbone. The eyes. The lips. She was beautiful. Of course, Arthur thought, the only person to seek him out and make him feel better was Guinevere. She wasn't in the game for sex, or money, like Vivian was, and she didn't rotate her life around her work, like Mithian. She wasn't fake, like most of his friends, and she certainly wasn't ruthless, like his father.

She was just Guinevere.

"What do you mean, returned the favour?" Arthur's reply was quick and hastened, and Gwen noticed. She sighed and slid onto the ground next to him, shuffling around until she was comfortable.

"This isn't the first time we've been sitting in this station alone, Arthur." Gwen replied, jolting Arthur's memory. He remembered how upset she'd been after he'd insulted their doubles partnership and frowned.

"I remember. Less than three weeks ago. How things have changed." He said solemnly, glancing over at Guinevere's pondering face. He stretched a warm hand out and interlinked his fingers with hers, causing Gwen to shift in surprise. At first, Arthur felt like he was the same ten-year-old boy again, becoming so nervous about asking his first crush, Sophia, to go to the park with him, that he'd sweated until his hands were clammy. Naturally she'd squealed and giggled and ran off to tell her friends - but after one playdate at the park, he'd become bored of her.

_But this feeling, _Arthur thought to himself, as Guinevere's soft fingertips stroked over his knuckles, _I will never get bored of this. _

"I'm really proud of what you did. You shouldn't ever be disappointed with your performance." Guinevere's voice was like the sound of an angel singing to Arthur's ears. He let a smile settle on his face, and looked over at her.

"You're so positive. I love it." Arthur remarked, casually leaning further back against the wall. Gwen laughed.

"I need to be with you around! Your face when you left the court..."

Arthur shot her a pointed look, to which she replied with an expression of amusement.

"Are you not ready to laugh about it yet?"

"Guinevere, you do realise that my father most probably wants my head right now, don't you?" Arthur said, shaking his head bemusedly.

Gwen shrugged, a very suggestive, _let__'s be bad _shrug.

"I don't care, Arthur," Gwen replied, with a small laugh as she gazed at their linked hands, "as much as I would like to respect your father, he doesn't seem to give me the same expression."

Arthur looked as if he wanted to disagree...but stopped himself, quickly bringing himself to take heed of the harsh realisation that his father was a very prejudiced man. He licked his lips as defeat washed over him.

"You're right." Arthur admitted, gazing at his companion. _You always are_.

* * *

And so, Arthur and Guinevere went on their first date. Of course, it wasn't much. Arthur had refused to go back to Wimbledon to fetch his car, so they'd merely called into a nearby off license with a twenty pound note. 2 bottles of Gatorade, a large bag of pretzels and a tub of Hagen Daaz later, the pair had somehow managed to amble to an empty field of luscious green terrain, dotted with stray poppies. Gwen dumped her knitted jumper onto the ground and dropped down onto it, crossing her legs as she went. Arthur followed, eyeing Guinevere's exposed skin beadily.

"You'll get cold..." He mused, debating whether to give her his (sweaty) hoodie. Gwen raised an eyebrow at his comment.

"I won't."

Her reply: confident, succint...Guinevere in a nutshell, Arthur decided. He handed her some Gatorade, and they both simultaneously snapped open the lids, taking long swigs.

"It's the semi tomorrow." Gwen broke the silence, watching out across the field as birds frequented the sky. Arthur's reply was non-existent; he looked out over the field also, and rested his chin on his hand. Following his gaze, Gwen noted that he was staring so intensely at the tallest poppies in the field that it was if they would disappear, were he to remove his gaze.

The tallest poppies. Gwen's gaze settled on them also. They were taller than the others, and the petals brighter. However, the great height of the plants came with the fragility of the stems. They swayed in the breeze, unsteadily, and it was if one turn of bad weather could rip each plant out of the soil brutally. Pondering why they were still standing, Gwen felt her eyes focus on the wavering stems...they were intertwined.

_The combination of the stems provides stability. It provides strength. _

"We are stronger together!" Guinevere burst out loudly, jolting Arthur. He looked at her, his expression a mixture of amusement and confusion.

"I'm sorry?" He replied, his face softening from his earlier intensity.

"The tallest poppies are the most fragile. If the weather is bad, they could fall apart. They withstand it by intertwining their stems to generate more resistance, more strength. Similarly, the best player are, um, the also the most unstable...so they, um," Gwen began to stammer under the depth of Arthur's gaze. His eyes were filled with an emotion Gwen had never seen him wear before: one so strong that she felt herself tremble underneath it. She attempted to continue, "...unite their players and combine assets to create a force to be, uh, reckoned with."

Arthur was drawn to her. He couldn't stop it. The words pooling out of those mullberry-coloured lips dissolved into a blur. His arm reaches out to her neck, and he lets his hand wrap around it, freely and tenderly. Gwen's expression of surprise was soon replaced by one of adoration, and she let her arms naturally wrap around his torso as Arthur took control of the kiss. Their mouths moulded into one - it was if they were two pieces of a jigsaw that had been waiting for years to be finally pieced together.

After a few moments, Gwen pulled away breathlessly. She licked her lips as her cheeks tinted a deep shade of rose.

"I guess we better win tomorrow, then," Arthur commented, brushing her hair out of her face as he moved in again for another kiss.

* * *

Swinging their joined hands, Arthur and Gwen made their way out of the Wimbledon player doors, revelling in their latest victory. The match had almost been (surprisingly) easy. Their opponents, the Swedish duo Lorelai Elena and Ivor Odin, had lost their way in the first set, and several audible conflicts later, they had lost 6-2, 6-0. Elena hadn't even waited to shake Guinevere's hand - as she walked away, Arthur had firmly but politely asked her to do it. The crowd hadn't been impressed by Elena and her partner's performance, therefore the British pair's win seemed even sweeter.

* * *

For one person, however, the match hadn't gone to plan.

Uther watched the pair exit the building: a bitter taste of fury in his mouth. He swilled his glass of whisky momentarily, and downed it, before walking off back to the Executives' Box for more drink. He had strayed from his usual seat in Arthur's Team Box after the events of the other day, when Arthur had lost the Men's Singles match. Uther remained seething and disgusted by the performance; therefore he wanted to appear as cold, aloof and distant as he possibly could from his son.

During the match, Uther had been approached by Julianne Annis - one of the most powerful women in British Tennis - to discuss, of course, his son. Uther had let on his thoughts about Guinevere (or, in Uther's words, "Arthur's new common piece of ethnic trash") and how it was his belief that the girl was affecting Arthur's play. Julianne had been most supportive - her words had led Uther to seriously think about how much of a problem Guinevere could potentially be. Annis, ever so painfully honest, had suggested that Uther could perhaps...dispose...of the girl.

Uther wasn't sure whether he could do that. But in all fairness, the girl was certainly going to dispose of Arthur's career. Picking between the life of a worthless tennis desperado and the shining career of his son was easy. Uther's disappearance through the middle of the match went unnoticed, and so did his "modification" to Guinevere's car.

* * *

"I can't believe that just happened. We're in the final!" Guinevere screamed, once they were outside and no one was about. Arthur threw his arms around her in shared jubilance - she lifted onto her tip-toes so that she could curl her hands around his neck, and he nuzzled into her neck - their smiles were infectious.

"The first British mixed doubles pair to reach a final of a Grand Slam for 48 years. We actually did it, Guinevere, we've made history." Arthur beamed.

"Now, all we have to do is win. Should be easy, right?" Gwen replied, a smirk accompanying the irony in her voice. Arthur chuckled.0

"As easy as this whole tournament has been? Wow, it should be a breeze..." He trailed off, raising an eyebrow at his sardonic remarks. It truly had been a test - at first, they hadn't gelled at all. Then, he'd pissed her off. Then, his father had gotten involved, and so had Vivian, and so had alcohol. After that, Arthur had lost everything in the Singles Tournament. However, they had prevailed: a sign of a real team, and a true relationship. They reached where their cars were parked - Arthur's Bentley pretty much outshone Gwen's Volvo, but Gwen was very proud of her own vehicle. She'd used the winnings from the Regional Tour a few years ago to buy it, and it still looked as good as new. Shyly, Guinevere gazed at Arthur.

"Are you busy tonight?" The look in her eyes said everything her question did not: _I can't bear to be without you for over a night, I want us to be together, I need you._

Arthur shook his head, smiling.

"Mine or yours?" He replied.

Guinevere unlocked her car, and indicated that he get in. He did so - bounding over to the passenger side, faster than he had even moved in the match. Gwen slid into the driver's seat, after dumping the four large racket bags and holdalls into the boot. She started up the car and sped out of the parking lot, escaping any lingering paparazzi. The car jolted a few times, which was odd, but Gwen took no notice. They turned out of the road running up to Wimbledon and carried on down a steep, tree-surrounded road - Arthur was glad he had his seat belt on, as Gwen seemed to be quite the reckless driver.

"Lover of speed?" He asked, raising an eyebrow as the car's speedometer reached 50. It was almost a country lane that they travelled on, taking them the scenic route from Wimbledon over to East London.  
Gwen shook her head, confused.

"Arthur, I'm not even pressing the accelerator!" She said, an expression of worry flashing upon her face. Arthur's quick glace at her feet confirmed that she was indeed not.

"Maybe you should brake...this is supposed to be a slower road," He commented, as the road became less steep, but more winding. Gwen's foot hit the brake. Nothing happened apart from a low grunt resonated by the engine. She tapped it again. Nothing. Still steering the car, she floored her foot down onto the brake with all the strength she could muster.

Nothing.

"The brake won't work!" She screamed. Arthur suddenly registered the circumstances - no brakes, on a tree-ridden road, with bends and curves. The situation was ominous and extremely dangerous.

"Guinevere," Arthur said, trying to stay calm, "when I say 'now', you need to get out of the car."

"The car's still moving, Arthur! We can't get out of the car when it's still moving!" Her voice was filled with fear, and it kicked Arthur into action.

"We can! It's our only option!" He shouted, reaching across to remove Gwen's seatbelt as she continued to drive the steadily accelerating car. He then pulled the handle on her door, opening it a fraction, before doing the same for his.

As Gwen looked at him, her eyes filled with tears. Arthur could read her like a book - she didn't believe they would survive. For a moment, Arthur doubted it himself, but they could only try.

"NOW!" He yelled, throwing his door open and leaping out.

* * *

Next chapter will be posted before the end of the year - it's the final chapter. I'm so sorry for the wait and thank you to everyone who has stuck with me, I am so grateful. As for Merlin - it ends tonight, and I am currently so upset. I'm going to sob my heart out. It'll be awful. Well, the ep will be brilliant but still...I hate endings. PLEASE REVIEW! Oh, and Merry Christmas!


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